How to Say Goodbye
by JackieStarSister
Summary: Birthday gift for a-little-rae-of-sunshine. Philip and Theodosia's relationship was a mixture of platonic and romantic affection, sometimes spurred and other times impeded by their family members. Blends musical and historical timelines.
1. 1787-1799 Wait For It

**Dedication:** My friend (a-little-rae-of-sunshine on Tumblr) requested _Hamilton_ for her birthday fic, and we both separately thought of Philip X Theodosia. I have more material in the works, so I might end up organizing this into a two- or three-part story or a drabble series. Feel free to point out any inaccuracies pertaining to history or the musical. Enjoy!

* * *

Theodosia liked visiting the Hamiltons because their family was enormous compared to her own. She had no brothers or sisters, while they seemed to have a new baby every few years. Philip was just a year older than her, and his sister Angelica was one year younger than her, so they were game playmates.

It was their aunt, Angelica Schuyler Church, who first teased Phil and Theo about falling in love. As small children, they barely understood her insinuations and suggestions. As they got older, they responded with varying levels of embarrassment, indignation, and denial.

* * *

One time, Theo visited on a day when the Hamilton siblings and their neighborhood friends were plotting a revolution. Everyone had bought or stolen tea, and raced to throw it into New York Harbor; the elder and more articulate children shouted, "No taxation without representation!" without knowing what the words meant. The gang broke up due to different goals and expectations: apparently some, like the Hamilton siblings, actually wanted to overthrow their parents, while others had merely wanted to reenact history.

The Hamiltons' revolution was fun, until Philip took it into his head to filch his father's pistol. Never mind that it wasn't loaded; seeing him brandishing a real weapon caused more than enough panic and got him in so much trouble that he was not allowed to play with his siblings or neighbors for a month. Of course, not being allowed to see him made Theo want to see him more than she would have if it had been allowed. That was the first time Theo found herself missing him. Unfortunately, it was not the last.

* * *

Theodosia lost her mother at the age of eleven. The Hamiltons all attended the funeral, and for the first time Theo could remember, Philip embraced her. It was a small thing, really, compared to all that she had lost, but it reassured her, somehow, that love could still grow and be exchanged with other people.

Her father took a more active interest in her education from then on. She now had little time to herself, and what time she did have was no longer spent playing outdoors. Not that she was the only one: Philip and Angelica were going through the same transition, being groomed to enter their parents' socio-political circle.

Their aunt Angelica did not tease them as she used to, and they never spoke of her old idea of a romance between Phil and Theo. Strangely, though, the idea rather grew on Theo as she approached the age of eligibility for marriage. There was no boy she knew as well as Philip. She rather thought she would prefer him to any stranger.

There were, however, obstacles. Their fathers were friends, or at least claimed to be friends, but they clashed so much that Theo doubted they could coexist as in-laws. Besides, Aaron Burr's finances were in sad shape, and it was Theodosia's duty, as his only child, to marry someone who could support both her and him.


	2. 1800 - My Shot

When Angelica Schuyler Church found out about Theodosia's supposed courtship with Joseph Alston (arranged by Mr. Burr, who saw him as a worthy contender), she took it upon herself to confront her eldest nephew.

"Do you love this girl?"

"Does it matter?" Philip muttered. "Everyone else says the contrary."

"It matters to me, to her, and, I wager, to yourself! Are you going to let her get snatched up that easily?"

Alexander happened to be passing by the room where they were talking, and poked his head in. "What's this about?"

"Oh, nothing," Angelica said nonchalantly. "Your son is just forsaking the love of his life."

Alexander blinked and asked, "Who would that be?" at the same moment when Philip said, "For the love of holiness, Aunt! I never said I was in love with her!"

"Please explain," his father said.

"Theodosia is courting a rich landowner from South Carolina, someone Mr. Burr thinks will tide them over."

"And this bothers you, Philip?"

He scowled before admitting, "Yes."

"Is your Aunt Angelica right? Do you love her?"

"Maybe—I don't know. it could be filial. I _care_ about her—I'll stake my life on that—but I never thought it would work out, so I haven't let myself think that way. It's probably too late by now."

"But it might not be," Angelica insisted. "You should at least find out if it's still a possibility. And for goodness' sake, find out what Theo herself wants!"

"If you care about her, Philip, you can't throw away your shot."

It was his father's urging that made up his mind.

Philip gathered a bunch of flowers and marched over to the Burr household. The servant at the door said they were out, so he settled himself in the parlor to wait. He passed the time by going over what to say and how to say it.

When Aaron and Theodosia came home, they were accompanied by Joseph Alston himself. Theodosia blushed intensely upon seeing him, but managed to smooth over introductions: Philip was an old family friend, with a famous last name that, despite recent slander, still demanded some respect.

This was not what Philip had wanted. He wished to speak to Theodosia in private, not in front of her father and suitor—that would turn bad quickly, and he hated confrontations. "If you're already engaged, I can come another time," Philip offered.

Now she looked not only embarrassed but miserable, though she tried to hide her expression from him by looking down at the carpet. "We—well—we are engaged, only—in more than one way."

"Sorry?"

"Just tonight," Aaron Burr said, looking extremely pleased, "Theodosia accepted Mr. Alston's proposal of marriage."

Philip stood and stared. Then he said tonelessly, "Congratulations. I'll leave you to it, then." He handed the flowers to Theodosia as he passed the trio, which would soon be a family.

They had waited too long to figure out how they felt, and Aaron Burr had made the decision for them.


	3. 1800 - Satisfied

Theodosia was not completely averse to Joseph, and she thought she would enjoy married life, but now she feared she was hurting Philip. On the other hand, it was ridiculous for him to feel betrayed, or for her to feel like she was betraying him, because they had made no agreement, broken no promise.

She wished she could talk to her mother about the whole affair. Her father certainly was not an option; he was barely aware of her old kinship with Philip. She thought of turning to Eliza, but she was Philip's mother, a little too close to the situation, and possibly prejudiced toward him. Theo decided to talk to Angelica Schuyler Church about it instead.

Philip's aunt listened patiently and sympathetically while Theodosia vented over tea. When she had finished, Angelica got down to the real business of the visit. "What are you hoping I'll tell you?"

"I don't know … perhaps, either that I'm doing the right thing, or that I can set things right."

"You haven't done anything _wrong_ ," Angelica said loftily, ambivalently. "You're honoring your father and acting in your family's best interests. I had to do the same thing, as the eldest daughter in a family with no sons."

"And were you happy marrying for money? Are you happy now?"

"I am. You could say I chose to be happy."

"Is that all happiness is? A choice?"

"Partly, but not entirely." Angelica paused to take a drink. Then she set her cup down and said, "In my view, there are two ways to love someone. One is involuntary: feeling things you can't help feeling—emotions, attachment, attraction, et cetera. The other is voluntary because it's based on words and actions. You can't control how you feel, but you can choose whether or not to act on your feelings. Do you understand what I mean?"

"Yes, that makes sense."

They sipped their tea in a moment of contemplative silence. Then Angelica spoke up in a confidential tone. "I fell in love when I was about your age. He married someone else—partly at my suggestion."

This was unexpected. "What? Who?"

Angelica smiled, her old coquettish demeanor returning. "I don't dare say."

"Oh, Mrs. Church!"

"He and I married different people. He never even knew I felt that way about him. All _you_ need to know is that I let myself love him in my heart, but I kept myself from loving with my actions. It was easy to do, but difficult to bear, for the first few years at least. It became easier over time."

"How did you do it? How do you bear it?"

"I was fortunate enough to still be able to see him. And I knew he would make his wife happy." She covered Theodosia's hand with her own. "You don't have to deny anything to yourself about what you think or feel. That's not helpful for your health or your happiness. In fact, accepting your feelings might make it easier to keep yourself from acting on them, as paradoxical as that sounds."

Theo was not sure she fully believed it, but she trusted Angelica, so she decided to try.


	4. February 1801 - One Last Time

_Published April 8, 2016_

"The Wedding"

The entire Hamilton family attended the wedding of Joseph and Theodosia. It was an awkward outing for them, not because of Philip—he had resigned himself to the reality of losing Theodosia, and resolved to be cheerful for both of their sakes—but because his parents had not appeared in public together since that Reynolds Pamphlet came out. The other wedding guests whispered or openly gossiped when they thought the family was out of earshot, and Alexander's paranoia heightened his sensitivity to them. Celebrating a young couple's union in matrimony was a painful reminder to Eliza of how far they had fallen from their happy beginning, but they put on happy faces long enough to congratulate the couple and wish them well.

Theodosia tried to address each of them with equal warmness; she even set aside her anger on Eliza's behalf long enough to thank Alexander for coming. When Philip came up to her, she pressed his hand and spoke to him sincerely. "Thank you for coming, Philip."

He smiled, and it was only a little bit rueful. "I wouldn't miss this." They both knew they would not see each other again for what might be a long while; he had to see her once more before her new life began. He kissed her hand, like his father and the other male guests, but Philip held the gesture just a few seconds longer than propriety deemed appropriate. "Dear Theodosia."

Some time later, they gravitated toward each other while Theodosia was mingling with various guests. Philip took a stab at casual conversation, but with a practical objective. "Where are you having your honeymoon?"

"Niagara Falls."

"Really? Interesting choice of destination."

"Yes, we're probably the first honeymooners to go there."

"Will you write to me, and tell me about it?"

"Of course. And you must write to me about your studies." They could write to each other, and hope—would it be too much to _plan_?—to see each other in the future. After all, their fathers crossed paths all the time, whether or not they wished to. Their social and political circles would keep them in each other's lives.

They both heard their fathers' voices rising, and spotted the two politicians arguing in a different corner of the room. Philip left Theodosia to break up the argument. Alexander may have had too much champagne, or perhaps seeing Aaron Burr—one of the people who provoked him to write the Reynolds Pamphlet—so pleased with himself made Alexander's long-building anger and frustration toward the man spill over.

Philip grabbed his father's arm and pulled him away, despite verbal protests and physical resistance. Phil spoke in a low but vehement tone. "Father, if you ruin this day for Theodosia, I swear I'll—" He ruled out the threat of not speaking to him—he couldn't manage that, they were too close—but he settled on something he knew would stop Alexander Hamilton in his tracks. "I'll drop out of King's College."

His father froze, and Philip released his hold.

Theodosia could only see the interaction from the corner of her eye as she entertained her other guests. In her heart she thanked Philip for preventing a scuffle that might have been embarrassing for both of their families.

Their farewell, when the family left at the end of the evening, was brief and contained the same kind of well wishes and gratitude that Theodosia had received and given all day. But the following night Philip received a note in the mail, containing the address at which Theodosia and Joseph Alston would be staying. He immediately set to writing, hoping his first letter might arrive there at the same time she did.


	5. 1801-1802 Blow Us All Away

_Published May 13, 2016_

"Blow Us All Away"

Writing was an awkward, stilted form of communication. Philip and Theodosia both felt more driven to formality by the format—talking had always been easier between them, because you could not over-analyze as you spoke in the moment. Writing, in contrast, left plenty of time and space for second-guessing and seeing possible double meanings in every sentence.

 _Dear Philip. Our trip has been wonderful, in more ways than I can say. I can truthfully say I'm quite happy. I hope you and your family are well. Tomorrow we leave for Joseph's home in South Carolina. If you wish to continue corresponding, you may write to me at the address there._

 _Dear Theodosia. Thank you for your letters. I am glad to hear you are adjusting to your new life. I've begun classes for a new term at King's College. I don't know if you want details; if so, tell me and I will expound them in further correspondence_.

Every sentence brought to the reader's mind the question: _did the writer mean it?_

* * *

A new letter came at the end of November. Theodosia was overjoyed to see that the postmark was from New York, but puzzled when she realized the writing was not in Philip's hand. It was the elegant script of an older woman, Angelica Schuyler Church.

 _Dear Theodosia. I hate to be the one to write a letter bearing such bad tidings, but someone must tell you, as it would be kinder to learn this news from us rather than from the newspapers or word of mouth. I regret to tell you that my nephew Philip died on November 23. It seems one of his rivals from school, a certain George Eaker, made a slight against Philip's father. The boys agreed to settle the argument in a duel. George Eaker won, and Philip died shortly after._

Joseph found Theodosia crying, and tried and failed to get her to explain what was wrong; he had to resort to reading the letter, which was now stained by her tears. His expression turned grave, and he gathered Theo in what was meant to be a sympathetic embrace. "We must send our condolences."

But Theo went further. "I must go to them." She would be too late to attend the funeral, but she made up her mind to visit his grave, and comfort his family in person rather than through writing. She would not be able to fully believe these events, and move on from them, until she had seen what was left of Philip in the world.

She had said goodbye with the hope and intention of seeing Philip again during her life on Earth. Now, she needed to say goodbye with the knowledge she would have to wait longer, and arrive in another world, before they could meet again.

* * *

When they arrived at the house, a stranger answered the door. Thinking it was a new servant, Theodosia asked to see Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton. "They moved uptown," the woman informed her.

It took a bit of searching, but finally they came to the Hamiltons' new residence. Eliza and her daughter Angelica hugged Theodosia tearfully. Even Alexander embraced her and held her for a long moment, seeing her as a reminder of happier times, a part of Philip's life. She played with the toddler, William, and held baby Eliza. She looked for Philip in each of their faces, trying to carve his face into her memory.

Angelica Hamilton related the entire story, which her aunt had not had the heart to report in her letter. "That Eaker boy said something bad about Father—which, incidentally, _may_ have been deserved, but Philip was too loyal and proud to consider that. Philip had already agreed to duel before he went to Father for advice on how to do it—he'd never even seen a duel before, he didn't know how it was supposed to work." Angelica's voice trembled and threatened to break as she approached the inevitable conclusion. "Father told Philip to shoot his pistol up in the air, and that if Eaker was a man of honor he would do the same … Aunt Angelica said he was like Brutus, his fatal flaw being an inclination to trust too much …"

Theodosia could think of quite a few different adjectives for the men and their actions. _Stupid. Reckless. Arrogant. Honor-obsessed. Naïve. Thoughtless. Impulsive._ At different times Theodosia felt angry at Philip, at other times at his father.

But the strangest thing was seeing the way Alexander and Eliza interacted. They were both heartbroken, but they seemed more civil and tender toward each other than Theodosia—or perhaps anyone—had seen them for many months. Somehow, their suffering bonded them to an extent that happiness had failed to reach.

It was difficult for Theodosia to stay angry at Alexander when it was so plain how much anguish he was experiencing. He used to be energetic, unapologetic, and passionate on every subject that came up in conversation. Now, he was sober, regretful, and pensive.

On one occasion, Theodosia and Joseph caught sight of Eliza and Alexander walking in the park together, arm in arm. Eliza rested her head on Alexander's shoulder as they walked. Theo had made similarly loving gestures toward Joseph, and yet the same gestures meant something entirely different for the two couples. Theodosia and Joseph were in the early stage of their marriage, still learning of its joys and complications and mysteries. Eliza and Alexander were sharing grief and turning to each other for comfort. It was beautiful in an entirely different way, filled with knowledge and forgiveness and a grace the young lovers could only wonder at.

Theodosia reasoned that if Eliza could forgive Alexander for his transgressions and mistakes, it was permissible, and perhaps right, for her to forgive him as well.

* * *

There were not many flowers blooming as the winter approached, so they covered Philip's grave with evergreen boughs and holly. Theodosia left a token of her own: an envelope with a final letter to her childhood friend and almost-love, listing as many memories of him as she could recall. She kept a copy of the list for herself, and gave the other to Eliza and Alexander.

She did not know if it would be good for her to see them in the future; she would remind them, and they would remind her, of Philip, and that pain might outweigh the joy of being in each other's company.

Theodosia thought about naming her first son Philip. She only gave up the notion after hearing that Eliza had given birth to another son, and named him after the brother he never knew.


	6. July 1804 - The World Was Wide Enough

_Published July 12, 2016. (I swear I didn't plan to update this the day after the anniversary of the duel; it just worked out that way!)_

* * *

"The World Was Wide Enough"

"You better hide."

Aaron Burr did not recognize the person who said those words to him. It was true that his own face was recognizable in New York, but how did people know he was the one responsible for Hamilton's injury (or death—was he dead by now)? He followed the advice anyway, wanting to escape from the mild chaos that accompanied the rumors flying up and down the streets.

He checked into a room at an inconspicuous boarding-house. He stayed inside for days, sending errand boys to fetch him books and writing supplies and drinks. The landlady left him alone for the most part, only bringing him his two meals a day, which moldered at his desk until he felt hungry enough to nibble at them. He swung back and forth between listlessness and frenzied anxiety.

Then one afternoon the landlady knocked at his door between mealtimes. "Sir? May I enter?" Hearing his grunt of affirmation, the landlady opened the door and peer in cautiously at her new tenant. "Are you the Vice President, Aaron Burr?"

He did not move, except to shift his eyes warily toward her. "Who's asking?"

"A young woman, sir. A Mrs. Joseph Al—"

Burr straightened up attentively. "I know her. Send her up." In the minute that it took the women to go down and up the stairs, he swept aside the rubbish on the floor and table, and tried to straighten out the bedsheets and books. Burr did not care what strangers thought of him, but he cared what his daughter thought of him.

He pretended to be in the act of reading, putting his book down when she entered. "Theodosia."

"Father." She did not come up to him right away, but stood near the door and looked at him as he stood. Burr realized how poor he must appear to her. "Are you well?" Theodosia asked.

It would have been too much trouble—too upsetting for both of them—for Burr to attempt to explain how he felt. So he gave the easiest answer: "Yes. Are you?" She was thin and pale; her health had declined after her son was born, but her pallor was even more noticeable in the mourning clothes she wore. Why would she be?

"In health, I'm fair; in spirits, rather poor. Father, do you know what people are saying? What they think you did?"

Aaron Burr felt almost the way he did whenever he met a politician, before ascertaining the stranger's loyalties. Ridiculous that he should feel that way now: Theodosia was neither a politician nor a stranger. And yet, the words she chose and the way she spoke them—detached and abstract, yet full of implication—unsettled him. He could not smile, and she would not allow him to talk less with such a question hanging in the air. So he answered truthfully, though he kept his words few. "Yes, I am aware."

Having established that point, Theodosia pressed: "Is it true, what they're saying?"

Burr hesitated this time, but his answer was the same. "Yes."

Theodosia's mouth opened just slightly; Burr could hear her breath quivering as she inhaled and exhaled. Maybe she would understand some fraction of what he was feeling—the bouts of rationalizing and irrationality, the clawing guilt, the lingering resentment, the loathing directed at more than one individual.

She started toward him, and he stepped forward to meet her; they collided, as she slapped him the moment he tried to embrace her. He reeled back, more stunned by the action itself than the force behind it.

"How could you?" Theodosia deplored, close to tears but trying to fight them.

"I don't understand …" Burr rasped, rubbing the skin she had slapped.

She put her hands on her hips. "Well, that puts us on even ground, because I don't understand you. I've only recently realized that I never have. It never bothered me before."

What nonsense was this? Burr thought but did not say; condescension would not get him answers. Instead he asked an equally relevant question: "Why are you here?"

"I came to make sure you were safe. Now that I've confirmed it, I'm going to do what you never had the courage or conviction to do: I'm going to speak my mind, come what may!"

Burr was bewildered, but found he was more curious than afraid of what she might say.

"You fought a war so we could be free. Warfare is hard-hearted enough—killing strangers, or perhaps on some occasions someone with a connection to you—but it's understandable, when there is a clear goal to achieve. Freedom, property, legal rights, self-determination—those are worth defending. There is necessity and even honor in fighting for them. But this was completely unnecessary and shameful. You knowingly killed your own countryman, your _friend_!"

"He was _not_ my friend!"

"He was a father! A husband! A public figure who lived to serve this country and its people!"

Burr snorted at the idealistic epithet. "You didn't think so highly of him a few years ago!"

"You mean after the Reynolds affair? That's no worse than anything you've done!"

The bold statement caught Burr off guard, piquing his instinctive paranoia. "How is that?"

She looked him in the eye and intoned quietly, "I know about you and Mother. I know she was married when you met. I know you had an unlawful affair with her while her husband was alive, and married her as soon as he died!"

Burr was aghast. "What? How—who told you?"

"Does it matter? Neither of your actions were justified, but what's done is done. I know what I am as well as I know what he was—a good man!"

Burr sank into the chair by the table, burying his face in his hands, hoping the gesture would give him a reprieve. It worked—Theodosia was quiet—but only for a moment.

"They say Mr. Hamilton didn't shoot at the signal—that he tried to shoot up at the sky, instead of at you. Why did you go ahead and shoot him?"

"I didn't know he was going to do that—aim his pistol at the sky. He put on his glasses—I thought that meant he wanted to have exact aim—that he was going to shoot to kill. I couldn't leave you an orphan!"

"That's ridiculous! I'm one person, and I would still have Joseph; but you've left his seven children without a father, and their mother without a provider! Why would you even challenge him in the first place?"

"He started it!"

"That's the excuse of a child! You've most likely ruined your political career, and frankly I'm glad of it! Anyone who can't tolerate their opponents' presence or disapproval or ridicule shouldn't be entrusted with such an office."

Aaron Burr felt as though he were looking at a stranger. When had his daughter gone and gotten political ideals in her head?

As though sensing his question, Theodosia took a breath and said, somewhat more more calmly, "You've done me an injustice as well, Father. When I was growing up, you and Mother taught me all about languages and history and the arts, but nothing about current affairs. I can understand Mother's perspective—she never wanted me to feel torn, the way she did during her marriage to a Loyalist, if I someday held different principles or loyalties than you and she did. You simply said you didn't want to instill any opinions into me, so I would be able to believe whatever I wanted. I understand you thought you were doing me a service; but the result was that I ceased to care about politics and social conflicts. I thought myself above all the controversies. To tell the truth, I still think some of them petty and trivial," she admitted. "But now I see that I should have paid attention! If I had known how your personal and political relationships were intertwined, I might have done something to intervene, to smooth things between you and Mr. Hamilton before they exploded." She looked out the window, wistful and sorrowful. But she collected herself and looked at her father again. "There's only one thing to be done now."

"What is that? You wouldn't have me arrested, would you?"

"Of course not; even if I would, it won't happen; Joseph had some friends make inquiries, and they're confident you won't be charged. But you have to come with me to the Hamiltons—"

" _What_?"

"—and apologize for what you did."

"They'll shoot me on the spot! And if they don't, what good will it do?"

"It's the first step for healing, for them, and for you."

"I did nothing wrong!"

"If you want to keep telling yourself that, it's your choice. Be it so, then!" Theodosia moved toward the door. "If you won't apologize to them, _I_ will—for being related to you! I don't expect they'll want to see me anymore, but the least I can do is offer my condolences."

Burr spoke as she opened the door to leave. "You forgave Hamilton for cheating on his wife, and publishing it?"

Theodosia paused with her hand on the doorknob, and answered with with her back to him. "Yes, I did."

"Can you not forgive me as well?"

She turned around to look at him, her expression tender, her eyes sad. After a moment she looked away and answered, "I can try," before leaving the room and shutting the door.

It was seeing his daughter leave him that made Aaron Burr finally break down and cry for what he had lost.


	7. 1814 - Who Lives, Dies, Tells Your Story

Dear Theodosia,

What to say to you? Months have gone by with no word from you or any of the _Patriot_ 's passengers. People are coming to the conclusion that something must have happened, that you and they were lost.

I have not, as yet, fully forgiven your father for ending my husband's life. Yet, I understand the grief he must now feel. Between him and me, I do not know which of us is more fortunate: I for having certain knowledge that my son is dead, or him for not knowing and therefore reserving some hope. In any case, I feel for him, since I know the grief of losing a child. I, too, mourn you and miss you more intensely than ever when we were apart. You were like a niece to me; I would have been honored to call you my daughter; I count myself blessed to have called you a friend.

I hope by now you are with my Alexander and Philip. It brings me some comfort to imagine the three of you talking and laughing as you did long ago. May you rest in peace and watch over us. I pray for your soul, and humbly request that you pray for us from the place I am sure God has saved for you.

With love,

Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton


End file.
